Ach, wenn ich nur der Schemel wän"

(The Head Speaks:)

Oh were I but the stool that she
Uses to rest her feet from pain;
Yea, tho' she stamped and trod on me,
I would not murmur or complain.

(The Heart Speaks:)

Oh were I but the cushion too
That holds the needle she employs;
Yea, tho' she pierced me through and through,
Each stab would wake the wildest joys.

(The Song Speaks:)

Oh were I but the least — the mere
Paper with which she curls her hair!
Then would I whisper in her ear
What stirs in me, and all I dare.